Stay Young
by ShesElektric
Summary: At sixteen, Kari has dabbled in her share of drugs. She feels like she's living the perfect life, discribing everything as beautiful. Is everything really that glamorous, or is she simply blind to the ugly things around her?


CastNoShadow

Started: 7/16/2006

Chapter finished: 7/30/06

Disclaimer: Don't own Digimon, don't own the chapter/story title. It's all based off Oasis songs.

What's the Story Morning Glory

I haven't been good to myself for a long time. I didn't mean for all of it to happen, but it made everything so simplistically complicated that everything began to finally make sense. You could do some, and suddenly it all became a four hour orgasm. Others would make you an eight hour God. I preferred orgasms over being God, but it all really depended on the mood and time of day. Before school? God time. On the weekend? Orgasm central. And the world became so much better, because you finally, _finally_ figured it all out.

Tai and Matt had rented their own apartment- a two bedroom flat in the middle of the city. The living room hardly fit a television and a sofa, but it became our freedom, so we didn't really care. At the moment I was lying on Matt's bed, shirt off, pinching the straps on my pink bra. I'd been in the same one for days, which I found a bit disgusting- all that back sweat accumulating on the spandex and cheap lace for all that time. It didn't help the fact that I had back-acne. I'm sure if I changed my shirt and bra more often that it'd all be fine. My face was pretty clear for a sixteen year old, after all. Though my forehead would probably be much less greasy if I washed my hair more than twice a week…

But it was summer, so I really didn't have a purpose to change my clothes or wash my hair. All that mattered was that Mom and Dad were fine with me being at Tai's place, and I got to sleep in Matt's bed instead of that pull out sofa they had (I doubt it would even have enough room to pull out, anyway). Tai didn't really like it, but over the years he had become pretty loose about what I did. All I got was a dirty look when he got home and Matt was sitting on the sofa, and I was straddling him. He never walked in on anything like _that_, but our make out sessions didn't quite tickle his fancy.

The room smelled like sweat. Like us. He had just gotten back from opening the window at the far right of the bedroom. Upon his return, he laid level with my ribs and lifted up the side of my shirt. He kissed the left region of my stomach, making me twitch involuntarily. Putting my hand on the top of his forehead, I shoved him away and hissed, "Don't do that." He let out a small breath of air, slipped his arm underneath my back, and hugged my abdomen. His head was then place on my chest. I hated when he tried to cuddle with me like this- his bony arms hurt my middle spine. I didn't say anything for a few minutes, and he eventually shifted away.

Matt glanced up- eyes droopy, hair disheveled. The stereotypical afterwards look. It made me smile, though I continued to crawl off the hard mattress and out from under the thin brown sheets. For a guy who had a successful record, you'd think he'd have better furniture- or at least better lighting. Sure, it was still technically a "local band," but sometimes his gigs were upwards of four hours away. His songs were on the radio nearly every day. He had earned upwards of thirty thousand that year. My twenty year old boyfriend was a local rock star. And a hot one at that.

I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling it give beneath my weight. For some reason his mattress sagged at the edges to the point of a 10 degree angle. While that might not sound like much, you notice the difference once you nearly slide off. I scanned the hardwood floor for my shirt. After a minute or so, I got onto my knees and began shuffling through clothing on the floor. Under his jeans, my skirt, his sweatshirt, boxers. I eventually found a shirt I had worn a week ago, sniffed the underarms, and upon determining the smell was bearable, slipped it on.

I heard the bed rustle and felt Matt's arms wrap themselves around my abdomen once again. He kissed my lower back before pulling away to find his own clothes. It was about 10 in the morning. I didn't feel like reading the exact time because he had a hand clock and my vision was still blurry from just having woken up twenty minutes ago.

"What do you want to do today?" he questioned before zipping up his pants.

"Lazy around."

"Including?"

"Listen to music."

"Including?"

"Whatever we can get, whatever we can do."

"Kari, I've corrupted you too much."

I sat down on the bed, legs over the edge, and laid back. I watched the ceiling fan spin slowly, and began to make it speed up. Slow it down. Speed it up. Ever since I drank DMT I could do this. I've also felt at times that I could switch into my mother's body and have her memories, but I know that's nonsense. Though I'm sure the fan speed is also… it just looked real. Hallucinogens could give you the power to control fans with your mind. Who knew?

Matt got onto his knees and positioned himself between my open legs. I couldn't stand when he pressed himself against me like that. I felt like I was being molested. Especially after he had just gotten what he wanted. I lifted my foot off the ground and placed it on the center of his chest, pushing him away.

"You haven't corrupted me. You just tweeked me a bit. I've always been here. You know that."

"Hm, tweek sounds nice."

I left the room after the comment to look for Tai. He wasn't in the front room, so I knocked on his bedroom door. After listening to a moment of fumbling, his girlfriend opened it. I didn't like her very much… she was the stereotypical Japanese schoolgirl bimbo. When at the apartment she was normally adorned in one of his button-up shirts and granny-panties. As if she was screaming to say "I just had sex with your brother and I'm so hot I don't have to look hot."

"Can I see Tai?"

She shrugged and stepped past me, presumably headed towards the kitchen. Only good thing about her is that she knew how to cook, and normally made us all breakfast. I headed through the doorway and saw, thankfully, that my brother was dressed. He most likely had passed out the night before after those six vodka shots. My brother can't handle alcohol well, but he's quite amusing when he tries. I tried shaking him awake, but he simply made a few mindless grunts and rolled over.

I don't quite know why I needed to see Tai in the mornings. It just made me feel a bit safe- like I was still part of a secure home. Sometimes I'd sneak out of Matt's room at night to sit outside Tai's door, arms around my legs and head on my knees. I'm insecure. He always protected me- from the Digiworld, from parties, and even from myself at times.

Something went wrong with me after I left the Digiworld. It's like I had some form of post traumatic stress disorder. I felt like everyone was going to leave me one day. Like I'd be thrown into the street naked and laughed at by the world. But Tai would at least bring me a paper bag to throw on and give me a box to sleep in. He'd always help.

I turned on his lights to try and rouse him from sleep. He grunted and put his arm over his eyes. Before leaving I opened his curtains. He'd be up in ten, if that.

Sora took me out to lunch at a chain diner later that day. We didn't have much time for each other anymore, really- none of the Digidestined did. A few of the older ones were in college, but we mostly had just separated into our own little groups. Like Matt, Tai, and I. Sora stayed mutual- still lived at home with her mom, kept in contact with everyone. She was the only one that still talked to Mimi, though they were distant at best. Maybe a ten minute chat every five or so months- Happy Birthday, Happy New Years, and the like. Small excuses to hold onto a failing friendship together.

"How's Tai?" Sora smiled slightly as she stirred her straw throughout her glass of root beer. The ice clanged against the sides. It occurred to me that this could be a nervous habit- something to distract her- the noise, the motion, and the fact that she didn't have to even force any eye contact. I liked observing people.

"He's fine. I think he chose his major." During his Sophomore year in college, Tai had twisted his knee while playing soccer and tore a few tendons. He then took it as a sign from God, and decided to focus more on his school work. "Political Science. He was first thinking about going into advertising. You know Tai. Being able to control someone's wants was cool to him."

Sora looked up from her drink and smiled- genuinely, this time. It was a known fact that they liked each other. From what we all observed, however, it was just a physical draw. They could never end up together- they got into rows so easily. Their kids would kill themselves. But sure enough, twice a year or so, they would lock themselves in his bedroom for about three days, not coming out once. After all, he had the master bedroom- the bathroom was attached. Plus, he had a mini-fridge and microwave set up in the corner. The fridge was mainly stocked with Steel Reserve 40s and microwaveable pigs-in-a-blanket, but in the throws of passion you seem to forget about healthy meals. But following the three day extravaganza they would get into a huge fight and everything in sight would be thrown at the other. She'd leave, he'd drink, he'd leave, and an hour later would come back with another girl on his arm to help satisfy what she left.

The last one was a Nigerian barmaid named Afra.

I don't know how many sexual partners my brother has had, and I don't quite want to know. But honestly, if I was Sora, I wouldn't let him stick anything near me. But I guess that's the beauty of being young- you seem invincible, and if you lived like I did, everything was so beautiful.

"Why Political Science?"

"He's all interested in the wars in the Middle East. He wants to do something about it. Not just the American stuff- he feels bad for the stuff going on in Israel."

"Doesn't seem like Tai."

"That's what we're all saying, but he seems pretty set on it."

"Is he seeing anyone?"

I didn't really have an answer for this- she asked it so quickly, and he dated so many girls at once that it didn't count as truly dating _anyone_. This time there was no straw twirling, no glancing away. She wanted to truly know.

Thankfully, our food arrived. The waitress, a pretty blonde girl with braces and a fake smile, handed me my club sandwich, and Sora her steak- she had to eat massive amounts of protein. Her soccer league was rising in rank, so the coach's expectations rose with it. She had, in fact, just gotten back from the gym. "Most I've worked out in years… my legs are shaking even when I sit down."

She'd grown up to be pretty awkward looking- the kind of girl who certain guys find beautiful, and others find to be simply plain. Her face had rounded out, and because she cut her hair ear-length, her jaw line took on a masculine look. She didn't have that orange tint anymore, though- she dyed her hair to match the color of a fire truck. Maybe that's why she had such of that unique look; not many people can pull it off. I can't even say if she was beautiful or not- she was perfect but homely all at once.

"How's your design class going?" I asked.

"Oh, it's wonderful. I mean, a lot of it is common sense- what colors match with what. Except now it's getting complex- the new fashion is all about mismatching colors. Orange and yellow and pink. It's like the 70s in America. Except more 90s baby-doll. And 80s punk. And I have to _draw_ designs that mix all these."

Our conversation was going nowhere fast, so we dabbled in small talk for another half hour. Relieved once the check arrived, Sora paid and we went our separate ways.

We were to go out that night to an old club about five blocks from us. While it was built in the 60s, it remained one of the most glamorous spots in Japan. Every time a new generation rolled in, it completely changed shape. It hosted bands like The Beatles and Rolling Stones, artists like Bob Dylan and Blondie, and even Britney Spears once or twice. Once you walked in, you felt as if you had lived throughout several generations. You smelled the marijuana smoked in the 60s and 70s, tasted in the back of your throat the cocaine drip from the 80s, moaned at the feeling of the heroin of the 90s. You don't live until you live then. You're beautiful then.

Matt loved the place for the drugs, Tai loved the place because of the women, and I love the place because of all the sexual tension in the air. There was simply something about the place- the sweat dripping off the women's hips, shaggy hair from the heat, the feeling of absolute freedom in the air. It didn't exactly turn me on… it just made me feel liberated from everything. Granted, I wasn't tied down by much- I, really, was a typical suburban kid who simply became enticed with the world of drugs, sex, and rock and roll. Though that sounds horribly cliché, that's what my life _was_. That's all life can be about once you really feel free.

To some people, it's hard to understand why those American hippies did what they did, and thought what they thought. But once you do a certain about of dissocializes and hallucinogens, you understand what they were talking about. Everything they wanted was so small, though so complex- world peace, for example. But when you're on a drug, the world just breaks down, and everything can be connected. Drifting off into your own world, you don't see things as black and white anymore… you're able to see the million different shades of grey in-between. And everything makes sense at the time (though if you were to write your thoughts while on certain drugs, all you would see later would be illegible chicken scratch mixed in with some legible words). You could simply say "Osama should come out of hiding; Kim Jong-Il should calm down; The US should apologize for bombing us twice; the Sunnis and Shiites should just settle their differences; all nuclear bombs should be destroyed." And we'd be okay.

That's why I liked them. Besides the Digiworld, I led such of a boring life. And being able to take acid, or DXM, or DMT, or salvia, just makes everything so exciting and beautiful and wonderful.

That night, however, I didn't know if any drugs were to be involved. I didn't really _care_.

I began examining my body; pinching the fat on my hips, flexing my buttocks to check for cellulite, jiggling my arms to check for flab. Matt hated when I did this- he thought I was picking myself apart. But in all honesty I was simply curious. I wanted to see how my body was changing. I began doing it after I began taking birth control. I noticed my hips widen slightly, my breasts really form into round cups, and my waist began to store a bit more weight on it. It was like I actually took on the shape of a woman, which was a huge difference from my once boyish figure. My body intrigued me. I wanted to note everything about it.

I'm a firm believer that the female body is the most beautiful thing in the world. The curvature of the ribcage to the waist to the hips. The rounded shape of breasts. Cute little bubble butts. I don't think that women should be toned and have a "rock hard body." I don't think that "heroin chic" is glamorous. I think all women should have a BMI of 25 or a bit more. We're meant to carry babies- not to carry pianos up ten flights of stairs.

I'll admit that every few days I'll see a girl with perfectly rounded hips and become envious. I'd love for those fashionable sweatpants to look like they were just _sitting_ on _my_ hips. But in the end, I'd probably end up eating fifty cheeseburgers simply to gain that weight back.

I was 63 inches 5'3 and 68 kilograms approximately 150 pounds. I still wore mini skirts, tank tops, and the like. Some girls couldn't get away with it, but you simply need to learn how to carry yourself. Don't wear micro-minis or tanks meant for the itty-bitty-titty-committee, hold your head high, laugh and flirt. You'll be sexy, and every guy in that room will want to jump your bones.

That night I wore a long, slouch neck navy blue shirt and a new pair of jeans- size ten, thanks. I wore a bright pink bra underneath the shirt, to hint at Western 80s fashion.

I love Western Culture. I find it odd how so many westerners are obsessed with Japan. It seems to dull here… nothing special, really. We have our weirdos who wear heavy make-up and dye their hair odd colors and wear Lolita outfits… but didn't that occur in the 80s in America?

And the night turned out to be like every other club night. The heat, the drugs, the speed, the lights, the curves- all the beauty. Sora brought her digital camera. She really wasn't into the party scene, but she enjoyed taking pictures of everyone. It seems like she always had the camera with her. Whenever we were out she took at least thirty pictures. I never knew where they went. I'm sure half of mine were shit- my hair messy, make-up streaked, pupils large, mouth gaping open because I was laughing but trying to look cool at the same time. Or when she woke me up by using the camera's flash. Those pictures would have a messy haired, drooling Kari. Lovely.

That night was the start of Tai and Sora's three day love-fest. It, of course, ended in a fight, a shoe getting thrown, and Sora storming out of the apartment, zipping up her jeans.


End file.
